December 10th, outside Shengjing City.
The Northern Land sky, a heavy snowfall akin to cotton, falls gracefully, enveloping the world in endless white snow.
Zhang Junming's caravan arrived ten days early outside Shengjing City, lining up with other caravans from various places coming to deliver year-end offerings, waiting for inspection. The carriages are loaded with goods, covered with thick felts, and now blanketed by snowflakes.
The Northern Land's cold wind is like a dagger; the coachmen, dressed in thick fur coats, have faces reddened by the wind under their fur caps, with frost hanging on their brows and beards. They tighten their clothing, stomp their feet to keep warm, but their gaze remains fixed on the city before them, elusive yet so near.
